


meet me in the woods

by storyskein



Category: The 100 (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Emotional, F/F, Fingerfucking, Fluff and Smut, Multi, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn, Porn with Feelings, Post-Canon, Scissoring, Semi-Public Sex, Smut, Spiritual, Tent Sex, Vaginal Fingering, the plan is for this to be a series with all sorts of lady groups and combinations so
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-17
Updated: 2018-01-17
Packaged: 2019-03-05 20:50:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,648
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13395972
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/storyskein/pseuds/storyskein
Summary: basically...lots of smut featuring the 100 ladies. some emotions. lots of fluff. it's kind of spiritual and a bit crack-ficcy. s5 ish.





	meet me in the woods

With stars winking above her and the soft, shallow sounds of Madi, Bellamy, Raven, and the rest breathing beside her, Clarke should have been happy. Instead, she breathes out slowly, and feels the itch of claustrophobia, the same itch that she had after she returned from the forest. 

Madi is sleeping between her and Raven, the rest are scattered around the fire. The guards from the Eligius company are either dozing around their own fires or in their lean-to tents. No one is around except those on sentry duty--Carey, Jackeline, Harper, and Emori--and they're far off into the trees. The shift changed only an hour ago, so the camp is still. People are settled. 

Except Clarke. 

Clarke wiggles silently out of the sleeping bag--survival supplies, a nice show of good will from the prisoners--and kneels first then stands, stretching out her limbs. No one stirs, and she smiles to see Bellamy’s mouth hanging open, just slightly. So much has changed--before, Bellamy would be up at the slightest movement. After six years on the Ark though he sleeps deeper now. 

The forest floor is soft underneath her boots. She’s learned to walk silently, to make her way leaving no trace, and soon she’s where she wants to be: the refuge of the medical tent. Something _always_ needs doing in the medical tent, and even though Echo is sleeping in the patient area, the inventory and supplies are kept in another partition. If she’s quiet, she can take stock and Echo can keep sleeping. 

She moves the flap aside, eyes adjusting from the ember-lit darkness outside to the soft, glowy blue of the solar lanterns. It’s still dark enough that Echo can sleep, but instead of the soft noises of sleeping Clarke instead hears rustling and--

_Oh_. 

It barely registers with Clarke that Echo is getting off, the sounds of _some other adult engaging in sexual activity_ is so, _so_ foreign to her, that she’s stepped back onto a twig, and the _snap!_ reverberates in tent. If such a thing is possible in a tent with a canvas interior and a mulchy dirt floor. 

A burning flush hits Clarke, hard, as Echo whips her head up to look at her. Then Echo’s body relaxes. “Oh. It’s just you.” 

“I’m so, so sorry--I’ll just…”

Echo smirks. “It’s okay, Clarke. I was just...passing some time, I guess.”

Clarke swallows and there’s a long beat between them where Clarke studies her boots as she can feel Echo studying her. 

There’s a rustle as Echo sits up and Clarke’s gaze flicks up, sees how Echo is loosely holding the sheet to her bare chest while her eyebrow is raised. “You know, Clarke,” she starts, her voice low and silky, just enough rasp in it to make Clarke’s thighs clench. Clarke simultaneously feels the weight of all the years alone; her breasts heavy with desire, nipples painfully tight, her hips feel wide, her belly soft, even the pinching pulse of arousal feels weighted. 

But with that weight Clarke notices a tension, coiled and _ready_. It sparks up her neck and into her jaw, prowls down her spine and over her ass, gripping the back of her thighs, something primeval in her wanting to _present_. 

Clarke shudders, bites her lip and can taste iron. 

Echo, ever the hunter, watches her, amused with an edge of heat. “As I was saying...on the Ark, the women...Well, let’s just say there was a time, about two years in, that everyone was broken up and mad at each other. It lasted about three months, people barely talking to each other, no one fucking, everyone sleeping in separate rooms. Until, one night over some greenshine, Raven, Emori, Harper and I realized that _we_ weren’t mad at each other. At least, not without Murphy, Bellamy, and Monty around to fuck things up one way or the other.” 

Heat starts to slither up Clarke’s spine as she anticipates Echo’s next words, as the images of what she’s about to say start to bubble up into her mind…

Clarke lips her lips, pushes the next words out. “What happened?”

“We fucked,” Echo says simply and Clarke quivers. “It was awkward, at first,” Echo concedes after leaving Clarke in that space for a moment, “But we figured it out. And it was so good that we did it again, and again...It stayed unspoken for awhile, but anytime one of the women wanted to fuck, or the guys were being assholes, or we needed some stress relief...it just happened. Magically, too, the standstill with everyone also got shaken out.” 

Clarke smirks at that. “I”m sure it did. Did everyone else find out?”

Echo smiles slowly. “No. We’ve always kept it a secret between us. After about eight months or so of it being unspoken we finally talked about it. It was something just for us, you know? And it didn’t matter if we weren’t all together, but even if it was just two of us it felt...I don’t know, connected to the rest, if that makes sense.” 

Unexpectedly a dart of jealousy hits Clarke in the chest, unravels it’s thorny black tentacles and starts to squeeze. The images of all her beautiful, naked friends frolicking turns sour. While they’ve been together, in both pain and pleasure, she’s been so alone that the memory of skin-on-skin has long since faded from her mind and her body. 

Echo sees it, keen observer that she is, and Clarke suddenly feels Echo’s hand on her arm, drawing her closer. She slides a finger under Clarke’s chin and lifts her face so that they’re looking at each other in the eye. “We talked about you, too. Sometimes it felt we invoked your spirit,” and at that Echo shivers a little. “It became so mysterious, sometimes.” Echo gets a distant look in her eyes as she continues, “One night especially--About a year ago, when we were supposed to come down--maybe we had too much to drink, I don’t know, or we were all so sad that we weren’t ready to come down--” 

Echo shakes herself. “It was powerful. You were there somehow. I don’t know how. And I’m sorry if saying so makes you feel weird, but what I’m trying to offer is that…,” and Echo’s sly voice returns, “I could... _induct_ you...tonight if you wanted?”

Clarke takes a step back even as she wants nothing more than to slide her lips against Echo’s and feel skin against her own for the first time in six years, even as her fingers yearn to push aside the sheet and run along Echo’s hardened nipples, slide along her torso and into her silky wet folds. 

Instead, she retreats onto the crumbling foothold of defensiveness. “What made you so nice after six years? If I recall correctly, you’ve tried to kill me several times over.”

Echo doesn’t blanch, and Clarke feels stupid for pushing aside what she actually wants more than anything at the moment, which is to fuck Echo, to take the offer she’s extended of once again being a part of something, even if it sounds too good and too weird to be true,even if it’s just the weirdest, stupidest pick up line in the world, whatever, Clarke just wants the taste of pussy in her mouth, the feel of Echo’s long fingers in her cunt, maybe even the slide of their slick cunts together, who _knows_ , now all she knows is that she’s close to desperate for it as she can be, and is eternally grateful that Echo just stills, just looks at her. 

“It’s been six years, Clarke,” is all Echo says, “and people change. Haven’t you?” 

She has. Part of her is softer than ever because of Madi, because the yearning for the people she longed for broke down all the barriers she had. She just wanted her mom, and Bellamy, and Raven, and her people back. Not to distance herself anymore, not to be a ‘leader’, but just to be with them. Talking to them. Touching them. 

Sometimes, when the nights were dark and silent, when Madi was asleep in the Rover and Clarke’s memories made her restless, she went wandering, sat under a tree, and thought on the people she loved, _felt_ their love, the only way that she wouldn’t go crazy. Maybe it was all mental. But sometimes--maybe--she connected to something greater and larger than herself, she didn’t know, she never cared to investigate it that deeply. All Clarke knew was that she felt something, a certain type of love, of comfort. An assurance that kept her going, kept her radioing Bellamy, kept her hoping. 

Clarke steps back into Echo’s space, slowly and deliberately raises her hand to brush some stray hair back from Echo’s face and tucks it behind her ear. “I’m sorry,” Clarke says and Echo smiles, beams, and at once the gulf of time yawns between them--who is this woman that _beams_?--but then Clarke closes it by pressing her lips against Echo’s.

The kiss is sweet, at first, and slow, and a little awkward. Clarke knows it’s on her end. Her heart is pounding and sweat trickles down her back. The hands that have hunted, gathered, killed are now trembling as her thumb strokes Echo’s cheek. _Is this kissing? Is this right? Is this what I remembered for all those years?_

But it must be good, because Echo moans into Clarke’s mouth, then parts her lips, sliding her tongue gently against Clarke’s. Then the kiss isn’t just a _kiss_ anymore, it’s movement, a dance. 

Echo shoves Clarke’s jacket off and pushes her shirt up in a seamless, practiced movement. Before she knows it Echo’s tongue is licking broad stripes across her nipples, hands kneading, rough and grounding and exactly what Clarke needs. Nothing soft or tender, nothing that she could dissociate from into the void of the past, but demanding and hard, riding the edge of pain just right. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck,” Clarke chant whispers. She shoves her pants down and hops on the hospital cot Echo had been on. Echo slides off and positions herself between Clarke’s thighs, jerks them apart as she drops to her knees. 

Echo doesn’t say anything, doesn’t have to, just looks up with that knowing, all-seeing look, holds Clarke’s gaze as she draws a finger down Clarke’s dripping cunt. 

Her touch is like quicksilver, shocking in its brightness. Clarke inhales, sharp, her hips scooting forward to meet Echo’s touch of their own will. 

“Please.” The sound is cracked, desperate. 

Echo continues the motion, moving her finger slowly up and down Clarke’s folds, getting Clarke used to the touch, her own eyes mesmerized. “Please what?” Echo leans her head against Clarke’s thigh and meets Clarke’s gaze. 

“Lick my cunt. Eat me out. Whatever. I need---” 

Echo drops her mouth right over Clarke’s pussy, close enough so that Clarke can feel her hot breath fanning out. She waits one beat, eternal, and then presses her tongue gently to Clarke’s swollen clit.

Clarke mewls, low and animal. She twists a bunch of Echo’s hair into her hands, forcing her closer. Echo gets the message, returning to the roughness from before, begins to press her tongue in relentless pulses directly onto Clarke’s clit. 

It’s shocking, Clarke thinks, to feel someone this way after six years. Language doesn’t cut it, every metaphor seems trivial. Just as Echo slides one-then two-then three fingers into her, filling her, stretching her out for a forth, then it’s only images. Stars and floods and ghosts of lovers past, lovers she wished for in the past six years, of the velvety, pulsing darkness of caves and as she gets closer to coming, the intense, radiating heat of fire. 

Clarke comes in a silent scream, mouth open in shock as her whole body tightens and then explodes. She can feel the orgasm everywhere, seizing her up and then unraveling over and over as Echo relentlessly works her with four fingers and her mouth. 

Echo kisses her down, strokes her thighs and cunt and belly, murmurs to her in both english and Trigedasleng.

Clarke is content there, for a while, lying back on the cot with Echo in her lap, letting the orgasm hum in her bones. But then Echo moves to sit up and her hair brushes over Clarke’s stomach and there’s glisten of _her_ on Echo’s chin and Clarke is hungry. Hungrier than she’s ever been. 

“Lay back,” Clarke commands. 

Echo’s eyes widen in surprise, but then--there’s that smile again--she nods. She lays back on the floor of the tent, opens her legs out in display. Her cunt is dusky pink and plump and so wet. 

Clarke kneels over her, one knee by Echo’s hip, the other under the opposite thigh. She doesn’t realize she’s holding her breath until she lets it out in a moan as she gently slides her cunt against Echo’s. 

Echo’s back arches upwards as Clarke slowly grinds down on her. She takes the time to find the _justright_ spot. When she does Echo’s hands dart out to grab Clarke’s ass, keeping it at that motion both of them locked into that undulating, grinding motion. 

Clarke moves faster and faster, the sounds of her panting and their fucking filling the tent. Echo’s hands are vise-like on her ass, gripping into her and leaving what are sure to be bruises. 

Then Echo rears up and her hips jolt once, twice into Clarke as her hands scrabble into the soft earth. The pulsing of Echo’s cunt sends Clarke over into her second orgasm and she holds Echo’s thigh to her as she shudders over and over again. 

When Clarke can move she gingerly moves off of Echo, lays soft kisses up Echo’s lithe body, almost reverent, before sliding next to the other woman and sighing. 

“That must have been a lot for you,” Echo says finally. “Your first time in six years.”

Clarke laughs softly. “Like riding a bike, they used to say.” 

Echo playfully bites-then-kisses Clarke’s shoulder. “Yeah, not too shabby. And you’ll get plenty of practice with the rest.”

Her belly thrills at that, desire and jealousy at the lost years and the sneaky delight of having a secret all mix together to create something potent within her, something _alive_. She can’t quite speak it, but Echo seems to know. 

“You want to sleep here tonight? Just a couple of hours?” Echo’s voice is low. 

Clarke nods, not ready to leave something so new. “Yeah, that’d be nice.” 

Clarke sneaks out before dawn, when the sky is still black-blue, but Raven is already tending the fire. There’s a metal camp stove coffee pot with some granule-coffee the Eligius crew traded on the grate, and the smell makes Clarke’s mouth water. 

Clarke doesn’t move and Raven doesn’t say anything as she putters. Her breath is caught at the top of her chest because while Echo told her all of what had happened, Clarke didn’t realize until _this_ moment that Raven’s vote, her approval, was what she really needed. So much had happened between them that was painful, unresolved, traumatic. Clarke had no idea where they stood. 

Clarke shifted her weight a little, the pause lingering, feeling like maybe she should just go. 

Raven pours the dark liquid into a mug, and hands it over to Clarke. She clinks their mugs together and lowers herself on to the log-bench next to the fire. When she looks up at Clarke, there’s a wide smile on her face, though Clarke knows that there’s still some of the same questions she has in Raven’s eyes. 

But Raven says, “Welcome to the club,” anyway. 

Clarke grins and expels the breath she was holding, sits down next to Raven and leans ever so slightly against her friend. “Thanks.” 

**Author's Note:**

> title from _meet me in the woods_ by lord huron.


End file.
